


Something Domestic

by FriendlyCybird



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU as of the end of Season 1, Autochorussexual Jon, Canon Asexual Character, Childhood Memories, Chinese Food, Cis male original character who prefers dresses, Communication, Discussion of Ageing, Discussion of Mortality, Food, Frottage, Garden Talk, Idfic, Jon's budding Archivist powers, M/M, Making Out, Moving In Together, Moving Out, Multi, Packing, Polyamory, So a lot is already very different from canon, consensual voyeurism, finger-sucking, implied childhood neglect and abuse, let me know if there's anything else I should tag, set post season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-14 00:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21007037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: At the end of season 1, Martin didn't find Gertrude's body in the tunnels.Without anything for Jon's growing paranoia to fixate on, the relationships between Jon and Martin, Tim and Martin, and in a slightly different way, Jon and Tim, were able to flourish rather than flounder. So when the time came to face down The Unknowing, they were...a different kind of ready.Now it's over, and they're all alive, and all too aware that life is short. And With their new relationship still in its early days, they've decided to take it very seriously, and buy a home together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [FriendlyCybird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird) in the [iibb2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/iibb2019) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Jon/Martin/Tim Poly Vee, in which due to previous AU elements they all survive the attempted Unknowing and it forces them to realize life is too short to take things slow - so they get a house and all move in together. Domestic Shenanigans, Sexytimes, Relationship Negotiations, and even a little Kink Exploration. All alongside the question coming up FAR later than it ought to have as to whether or not any of them can actually trust Elias. (Can you believe I changed one thing and suddenly they all actually trust that bastard through season 3? Idiots, I love them.)

It started with a scrapbook. It was on the top of the bookshelf in his mom's - in his spare room. Three hours of looking through it later, Martin was much too tired, mostly emotionally, for packing so he'd laid down. A busy day at work followed by a busy night at Tim's and when Martin got back to packing it was about two hours before he got distracted by a card file of his great-grandmother’s recipes. He spent an unnecessary amount of time sorting them, largely by handwriting legibility, but those he could read he also sorted by food type. 

Once he was done with that he got about two hours of packing in before he found the shelf full of knickknacks in the linen closet. Little ceramic figures he remembered his mom had collected once. One particularly lumpy one he'd made out of play-dough that had somehow survived the decades. A few others he'd bought for her. The moment in his teens when she'd casually told him she'd thrown them all away and the muted grief he'd felt - he didn't want to relive it but he did. He spent hours wrapping each one in paper and packing it away. When he was done he cleaned in a daze the rest of the day. 

_ Didn't get much done today. _ he texted Tim that night as he crawled into bed. _ I'll need to spend tomorrow packing so I've got to cancel our afternoon plans. _

The string of emojis Tim sent was more comprehensible than usual when the other man opted out of actual words. A heart, a sad face, a different heart, a thumbs up, and yet another different heart. Martin scoffed a half-laugh and texted back _ How many heart emojis are there? _

He shouldn't have been surprised when Tim replied with a wall of over a dozen emojis. Hearts in various colors and states of sparkling, heart eyes, little emoji boys with hearts behind them, even a broken heart. Martin chuckled and rolled onto his side, trying to decide what to say back. Before he could send another text, he got one from Jon. _ Packing didn't go well? _

Martin sighed and tapped a note back _ Sure, Tim uses words when he talks to you. _

_ I pretend to not understand emojis so he has no choice." _ Jon's reply was instant and Martin actually laughed. He laughed harder when it was followed by _ Don't tell him. I'd rather he not regress. _

_ Of course not. _ Martin typed back. _ I made the mistake of asking him how many heart emojis there are. He sent me all of them. _

Martin rolled onto his back and rested the phone on his chest a moment. When it buzzed, Jon had said _ Good Lord, well, he simply must be stopped._

Martin laughed, and replied _ I think you've stumbled on the correct use of emojis. If I didn't know you so well I couldn't have read the sarcasm in that. An emoji could have helped clarify. _

There was a notification that Tim had sent another message, but before Martin could check it Jon replied _ As usual, you are the point of moderation between Tim's and my own extremes. _

It was entirely appropriate, Martin decided, to reply with a particularly obnoxious emoji of his own. He sent Jon a winking face with its tongue out and checked the message from Tim. _ There's more than that out there, but those are the only ones I have. _

Martin couldn't resist the same joke he'd made to Jon. _ Oh, you can use words then_

The string of emojis Martin got in response might have been comprehensible earlier in the day, but at this stage Martin was much too tired to try. He sent a text to that effect for which he was rewarded with another string of emojis that, among other things, included Z's so Martin assumed Tim was wishing him goodnight. He switched conversations and sent a goodnight text to Jon, who responded in kind, then plugged his cell phone in to charge and left it on the nightstand. 

The process of falling asleep left him spinning. The sensation of his bed turning around and around in a growing void and, as always, the feeling that he wasn't alone. It helped, a little, that he had some idea what it was watching him. That he had a name for the feeling. A being that was part of his life now, however evil it may be. As his existence narrowed and spun as he drew close to sleep, he muttered "goodnight" aloud, and silently wished it had been to nothing. 

On waking, he was sure his dream, or dreams, had been pleasant. Or at the very least not unpleasant. The details drifted away quickly. He was still lying in bed, trying to recapture them when the doorbell rang. Martin groaned, curling in on himself and desperately wracking his mind for anyone who might be visiting him. Especially this early on a Sunday. 

A moment’s thought and he concluded it was Ms. Kettering. She'd been close to his mom and was an uncontrollable gossip. Probably heard he was moving and was stopping in to say goodbye before church. Martin groaned again and uncurled. He checked the t-shirt he'd worn to bed and found it not in awful condition. It was an old church lady at the door most likely though, so at the very least he'd need trousers. He pulled open his dresser and grabbed the first pair his hands fell on. 

The doorbell sounded again and Martin groaned again on the verge of a growl and shouted "I'm coming!" He didn't know if it was loud enough for her to hear but hopefully it would make her a bit more patient. He pulled on the trousers and padded, barefoot, to the front door, which he swung open slowly enough to disguise his irritation. 

It was not Susan Kettering on the other side of the door. It was infinitely better. 

"Surprise!" Tim greeted, holding up a box of frozen breakfast sandwiches. "We brought breakfast." 

"Wh- Wha-?" Martin managed to get out. 

Jon interrupted. "Tim and I had a conversation over text about your ah - difficulty? Packing. I finished with my flat weeks ago and, well -" 

"And I finished yesterday." Tim added. "So, we thought we'd come over and help." 

Martin leaned on the doorjamb, pressing his weight on one hand and supporting himself as the wind was knocked out of him by a burst of emotions. All good, but overwhelming all the same. He sucked in a breath to replace it and blinked away a sudden moisture in his eyes that he was almost convinced wouldn't be there if he hadn't just woken up. When he breathed it back out it was with the words, "I love you. Both. Both of you." He paused, then stepped aside. "Come in, please." As they did he held out a hand toward Tim. "I'll...warm those up. Tea?" 

Tim handed him the box while Jon answered "Please" as they both entered. Martin shut the door behind him. 

"Alright," Tim said, "Let's see how far you got, hmm?" 

Martin headed toward the kitchen, comfortable with letting his boyfriends inspect his total failure at packing. Hopefully they wouldn't judge too hard. Hopefully they also wouldn't understand. He didn't need that. Or maybe they could understand, so long as they didn't say anything. He got out plates and checked the instructions. There were six sandwiches in the box and Martin managed to fit them all onto the one plate for microwaving. 

Then he checked the water level in the electric kettle. He'd filled it for his chamomile the night before, so there was still plenty. He switched it on, then headed to the microwave and started the sandwiches warming. He needed to stop then, take a breath. Listen to the voices in the living room. 

Jon's voice was soothing. Low and reassuring. Martin had always loved Jon's voice. He was saying something, reading something. Labels, Martin realized a moment later. The labels Martin had put on his half-packed boxes. 

Tim's voice cheerfully interrupted the list. Tim's voice was lighter than Jon's, though with no less impact. Rougher and sweeter and he was making some sort of joke. Martin didn't hear it. He heard Jon's sigh in response though, so he suspected it was perfectly stupid and hilarious. He moved back over to the kettle and dug around the cupboards above it. 

What had it been? 

He pulled down four bags, then put one back and exchanged it before starting to close the cupboard door, stopping, and retrieving a fifth. He was in no way awake enough to be doing this. Inventing a new blend on the fly. They were both here though, and he wanted them to know how much they meant to him. He'd long since given them individual blends, but this had to be about all of them. 

There had to be fruit. There had to be spice. There had to be smoke. It had to be measured properly. The task was absorbing. It helped him not think about what was happening. Packing up his home. Taking everything to his new home would be a major change, and change was hard, and maybe he put a bit too much gunpowder into the blend. Tim would like that, Jon a bit less though. That was okay. 

Martin got the blend into the infuser as the microwave beeped, loudly and repeatedly. Three times before Martin got to it and opened it. The plate was too warm to touch comfortably but Martin grabbed it and moved it beside the other plates quickly. He hissed as he put it down and glanced at his hand. No real redness, he was fine. 

He sorted out the sandwiches, two per plate. The kettle would take a few more minutes. Long enough for Martin to begin second guessing his blend. Not enough to change it, as afraid as he was it was wrong he was more afraid to touch it if it was right. So instead he just emerged from the kitchen with the two plates that hadn't been in the microwave. 

Jon and Tim stopped what they were doing and settled on the couch, opposite ends. Leaving a space for him in the middle. Martin couldn't help but smile at that though he didn't mention it. They both thanked him and he thanked them in return, then announced, "I also, ah, I made tea. A new blend. I've got it in the infuser? It's a bit...off the cuff. So, bear with me?" 

"Of course." 

Jon's words overlapped a bit with an enthusiastic response of "ooohhh," from Tim. Martin huffed a small laugh and started back to the kitchen. He arrived just as the kettle clicked off. Then water into the infuser and three cups went on the plate around Martin's own sandwiches and he carried all that in one hand and the infuser in the other out to the living room. "Tea needs a minute to steep," he commented, setting the infuser on his coffee table and sat between the other two men with his plate. Then he set each of the cups on the coffee table as well before settling in. 

They sat together and ate. Tim was the one to lean forward and pour everyone's tea, as he was the fastest eater of the three and was done with both sandwiches by the time it was ready. As Martin had guessed, he also enjoyed the tea more than Jon did. 

They discussed the tea. The boxes. The sandwiches. 

They touched briefly on their new home before getting up to pack Martin's old one. It took all three of them, working steadily most of the day. It was a little after three when they stopped, and they only stopped then because Martin broke. 

It was a jumper, of all things, that finished him for the day. The last jumper out of his closet. No specific memories attached. Nothing special, just an ordinary dark cream jumper. He had it neatly folded and halfway to the top of his clothing box when he burst into tears. 

Tim was there in an instant, at his side, touching his back and arm and steadying him. As a sob escaped Martin's throat for no reason at all, Jon appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. An equally reassuring presence though he made no move to get closer. Martin gasped his apologizes and Tim assured him it was alright. 

They ended up back on the couch. Martin in the center once again, but with both seated much closer to him. Tim had an arm around his shoulders and he was leaned into Tim's side. Jon just had a hand on his leg but it was just as grounding as the weight of Tim's entire arm. It didn't take long to stop crying, but he felt exhausted. 

"Is it the change?" Jon asked gently. "You're not...having second thoughts, are you?" 

"No!" Martin reassured. "No, absolutely not." He covered Jon's hand with his own and squeezed gently. "Life, our lives, are far too short and unpredictable to not..." He stopped and sighed. They were both looking at him. He didn't really want to go back over all the reasons he'd agreed with the decision to move in. He'd have to explain instead. "It's just that...I grew up here. I've never lived anywhere else. I mean, except the archives, but. Like I'd still put this address on my paperwork and things, even then." 

Martin couldn't see Tim's face, but he saw realization dawn on Jon's even as Tim pulled him closer. "Let's take a break," Jon suggested. "I'll order some take out, and we'll...sit here and talk?"

Jon made the call to a nearby Chinese place. Then settled back a little closer to Martin. Close enough that their legs brushed and his hand rested more naturally on Martin's leg without having to reach. Martin sat up a bit from leaning on Tim so he was properly between them and said "Thank you, both. I don't know what got into me, honestly." 

"Probably upset we missed lunch," Tim joked. Martin elbowed him playfully and Tim laughed. "Really though, Martin, if for any reason you're not sure about this..." 

"I'm sure," Martin said suddenly. Then, a feeling of dread hit him as he met Tim's gaze. "Are...are you not?" 

Tim seemed to startle, and Martin felt Jon tense on the other side of him. Then Tim sighed heavily. "I'm sure, Martin," he said, though he sounded exhausted. Martin just looked at him questioningly, and he was sure Jon was doing the same behind him. Tim explained. "When we stopped The Unknowing, that...closed a chapter for me. One I thought for a while would be the last. I've got nothing ahead of me now except for you, and this, and I don't mean that to pressure you. The opposite really. I'm in exactly as far as you. No more, and definitely no less." 

Martin smiled, a bit sadly, and maybe his eyes misted a bit again at the thought of Tim having not expected to survive The Unknowing but he reached out with a shakier than he'd have liked hand and lightly touched Tim's jaw before leaning in and giving him a short, hopefully sweet kiss. Then he turned his attention to Jon, dropping his hand over the other man's and squeezing gently. "Jon?" 

"Hmm?" Jon blinked, coming out of his thoughts. 

Smiling, Martin repeated the question. "Are you sure about this?" 

"It's a bit late not to be," Jon answered, a little incredulous sounding. 

"Not really," Tim answered. "No one's signed anything yet. Not too late to back out." 

Jon sighed heavily. "Well, given I don't particularly want to back out at this stage, I'd say I'm sure." 

"Are you sure about the three of us living together," Martin qualified, "Or about not wanting to unpack your flat now that you've gotten packed?" 

"Both," Jon answered, squeezing Martin's leg with a smile. "Martin, you don't have to worry about..." He trailed off and sighed. "Tim? Can you help me here?" 

"Oh no," Tim responded. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you that you need to express your own emotions..." 

"Tim!" Jon protested, frustration and embarrassment flooding his voice. 

Tim sighed heavily. "Right." Then, "Jon's done being an idiot, at least where you're concerned. He wasted enough time treating you like crap and now that he's figured out that you're the best thing to ever happen to him, he's gonna act like it." 

"Thanks, Tim." Jon said, fully deadpan. 

"Any time," Tim answered brightly, with just the slightest twist of mocking. 

Martin laughed, but only a little. His throat was still trying to close from tears. "And neither of you think we're rushing this?" 

"Oh, we're absolutely rushing this," Jon answered and Martin startled and looked at him. "That's the whole point though. We don't know how long we have. Another ritual..." He trailed off, then, "There's any number of things that could go wrong. Horribly, irreversibly wrong. We need to wring out every drop of goodness this...relationship can give us while it's viable. Whether that's two years or twenty." 

"Personally, I think we ought to aim for forty," Tim commented. "All the best couples have been together well over half their lives. We should aim for that." 

Martin groaned. "We'll have to move out of the three floor house before then. There's no way all of us are getting to seventy without severe arthritis." 

"Fuck arthritis," Tim answered "If I stop being able to climb stairs before I'm a hundred, just shoot me." 

"You have really unrealistic expectations of aging, don't you?" Jon asked, a bit teasing. 

Tim shrugged. "Probably," he answered lightly. Then, in an only slightly more serious tone he added, "But actually, don't shoot me. Not unless you can't handle the inevitable whining."

They went on like that a while. Gently teasing one another about what being old men all together would be like. The subject had just taken a turn for the morbid, with Tim's statement that under no circumstances were his remains to be handled in any way except cremation and Jon promptly ratcheting up Martin's anxiety by asking what Tim wanted done with his ashes when the food was delivered. 

Martin had been a bit too far gone when Jon placed the order to realize he'd called the place with the really amazing vegetable chow mein. He'd fully intended to use the enclosed chopsticks that came with meals from most Chinese places but, upon realizing exactly what had been ordered, he went back to the kitchen for forks instead. 

Of course, the forks had already been packed, so chopsticks it was. Martin came back from the kitchen, dejected and empty handed, to discover that Jon had completely forgone the chopsticks and was poking around in one of the takeout boxes with his fingers. 

"Oh! Jon!" Martin protested, disgust in his voice as he took his seat in the center of the couch and picked up the chopsticks. 

"I washed my hands!" Jon justified. 

Martin rolled his eyes and reached for the container in Jon's hand with the chopsticks, commenting, "Let me..." Jon moved the container slightly toward Martin who caught a piece of meat between them and ate it. For a moment, it was delicious, and then he started chewing. His nose wrinkled a bit and he commented, "Right" without elaborating, before picking up the box remaining on the coffee table. The box was, in fact, not vegetable chow mein. It was another mixture that Martin didn't recognize initially but it had broccoli so he took a bit and ate it. 

A moment later he passed the box to Tim. "I think this one's yours," he said. Tim, who had the chow mein box and was eating out of it somewhat greedily, stopped and looked at Martin questioningly. "Spicy." Martin clarified. 

Tim finished chewing and swallowed. "You can have some." 

Martin rolled his eyes and picked up another bite, commenting "Save me at _ least _ two thirds of the noodles, please," before eating it. 

"Two thirds?" Tim questioned. "Why do you get two thirds? If I'm just eating a third, shouldn't Jon get some?" 

"I'm happy with this," Jon answered, gesturing to his box. Martin glanced over just in time to see how whatever thin sauce it was coating the stir fry, was now also coating Jon's fingers giving them a visibly slick appearance. That shouldn't have made Martin's mind go where it did, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Jon's fingers until they disappeared back into the box. By then though, his breathing had gone uneven. 

Despite having been in a romantic relationship with Jon for over a year at this point, Martin's sexual attraction to him was still a point of some awkwardness, as Jon was asexual. He wasn't particularly fond of that label, and Martin tried not to use it for him out loud. He didn't have a better word for it though, so it was what his mind defaulted to. Which meant moments of explicitly sexual attraction were best ignored or sublimated into another sort of physical attraction or else transferred to Tim. Unfortunately, Tim had stolen Martin's noodles, so it might be an hour or two before Martin was willing to think about sex with him. So sublimation it was. 

In this case, the impulse was best diverted to a kiss on Jon's jaw while he was chewing, then returning to his own food as quickly as possible. Jon startled and looked at him, and Tim snickered. Martin blushed slightly and caught up a bit too much of the food between the chopsticks. A bit fell out on its way to his mouth. Back in the box, luckily, but it was still a bit too large a bite for something this hot. Never mind that the meat was dry. Martin made a sharp, displeased noise as he chewed and Tim looked at him too. Then sighed heavily and offered the noodles. "Here," he said flatly.

"You're both babies." 

Martin finished chewing and swallowed, then swapped the spicy box for his chow mein. "I'm not a baby," he protested. "The meat's dry, and the sauce isn't as good as Jon's." 

"Mmm," Jon started, finishing chewing a bite. "You can have some of mine," he offered, before, of course, reaching back into the box to pull out more food with his fingers. Martin desperately wanted to be disgusted by that but all he could do was watch Jon's fingers, with their thin coating of white sauce, lift what he thought might be a snap pea pod to his lips and…

"Yours is dry too," Martin forced out, dragging his gaze down from Jon's lips and hand to stare scornfully at the box. 

Jon chewed, swallowed, and answered, "Not that dry." Martin rolled his eyes and Jon sighed. "I'll pick out the meat and leave you some vegetables?" 

Martin turned his attention to the chow mein, pulling out a long bite of them with the chopsticks and commenting "Really, I'm only interested in that white sauce." He took the bite, just before realizing that Jon had frozen, hand halfway back down to the box. A beat later Tim froze, and Martin felt as though someone had caught hold of his mind and spun it like a carnival wheel. By the third or fourth loop around, it started to slow as his eyes zeroed in on Jon's hand. Jon saw it now, and so did Tim, and the awkwardness sat in Martin's throat like a physical blockage. 

Then, without a word, Jon lifted his hand and offered it, bringing it almost directly in front of Martin's face. Despite the fact that he'd been eating with his fingers, his hand was surprisingly clean still. The white sauce stopped almost exactly at the second knuckle of each finger and the first of his thumb. Only Jon could be gross and messy so _neatly_. And what's more...he was offering. He might not be aware, Martin realized, just how sexy he thought what Jon was offering was. So he'd have to make that as clear as possible. Non-verbally, of course. If he tried to say anything on the matter out loud Martin might die of embarrassment. 

Instead, he licked his lips. Slowly. Very deliberately in a gesture he was reasonably sure Jon would recognize. He shifted the box into the one hand, toward Jon, then reached in front of him with the other and caught hold of Jon's wrist. Jon startled and Martin looked at him, and when their eyes locked Martin felt himself stop breathing for a second. Jon's eyes were wide, and seemed darker than usual. Their keen interest was fixed on him and Martin felt very suddenly...powerful. All of Jon's curiosity, all of his desire to learn and to know was suddenly pointed directly at whatever Martin was going to do next. 

The weight that leant this moment, a little nothing moment, a small intimacy, took Martin's breath. He didn't need to breathe though to let the tip of his tongue dart out and drag along the underside of Jon's index finger, knuckle to tip. It really was a nothing little intimacy but the little twitch in Jon's hand Martin could only see from this close was, in that instant, everything. He moved forward suddenly, mouth open, taking Jon's finger in his mouth to the knuckle and sucking eagerly and Jon made a surprised little noise that went directly to Martin's groin. Or maybe that was just the way Jon's finger rested on his tongue as he pulled around it, the flavor of food giving way to something else. Warm, clean skin and a sensation not unlike a particularly deep kiss. 

He only stopped because there was another finger to curl his tongue around and lick clean, slowly and deliberately while he felt both Jon and Tim's eyes on him, gazes heavy and breath shallow and it was everything. The third finger he didn't bother licking, just popped right into his mouth like so much hard candy and sucked. His own fingertips slid up Jon's wrist and came to rest instead beside the heel of his hand, just at the bottom of his palm, and he could feel Jon's hand trembling over his and maybe he sucked a little harder to see if he could provoke another sound from his boyfriend. He did, a high little whine that cut itself off with a strangled inhale. 

Martin let go of Jon's ring finger and moved on to the pinky with little, almost timid licks and Jon's responding exhale was a little too familiar. Irritation. There was a neediness under it that made Martin huff a little laugh before Jon just curled his other fingers and jammed his pinky unexpectedly hard into Martin's mouth and Martin startled. Maybe he ought to have kept a better hold on Jon's wrist. Or maybe it was good he hadn't because the brief use of force elicited an involuntary groan from Martin. On the other side again though, perhaps he should have, because that moment was explicitly responsible for the speed that the tightness of his trousers suddenly skyrocketed. 

He heard Tim make a slightly frustrated sound beside him, and then the couch shifted as Tim commented, "Right, I'm gonna dig out some forks. I'll wash them and repack the box after dinner, promise." Martin felt a flash of guilt as Tim left and his grip on Jon’s hand went slack for a moment. Then Jon tried pulling his hand back and Martin tightened his grip to stop him and sucked harder on the finger which, in Tim's absence, elicited a full, high, and surprised moan from Jon. Martin stopped, pulling back a little and turning his attention to Jon's thumb, which was only slick to the first knuckle so he held tight and kept to those little licks, slowly cleaning the white gravy off the pad and nail with the tip of his tongue. 

Finally he let go of Jon's hand, and Jon lowered it, visibly trembling. They looked at each other briefly, breathing heavy. It was, Martin was strangely aware, perhaps a cliche moment to kiss. There were lots of moments Martin felt like his relationship with Jon would work for a particularly dark romantic comedy. So it really was perfectly natural to kiss him then. The kiss itself was unexpectedly hungry, all tongue and teeth and not at all the kind of kiss he usually shared with Jon. Martin kept his hold on Jon's wrist, clinging hard as his other hand curled into Jon's shirt. It was wet, and hot, and Martin was more than anything painfully aroused and almost desperate for something more. For it to grow, escalate, do something besides press and shift and taste. It didn't though. Jon stayed almost infuriatingly still but where it felt as though he were trying to devour Martin - with his mouth for once rather than his eyes. 

They were interrupted by Tim, who cleared his throat as he offered, Martin saw as Jon pulled back, a pair of forks to them. Martin took one, blushing hard and Jon did as well, looking much the same. Tim sat beside them without a word as Martin picked up the chow mein from where he'd rested it against his leg without thinking and settled in to eat. Jon did the same. The silence was unfortunately uncomfortable and suddenly sitting between his boyfriends felt painfully like being trapped. Jon was quiet, like a guilty child, and Tim was as well, perhaps like an angry parent but Martin couldn't bring himself to look at him to know. 

"Alright," Tim broke the silence finally. "I'll say it. That was uncomfortably hot and I have no idea how you do the voyeurism thing, Jon, because it just about killed me." Martin couldn't help it. The relief that flooded him seemed to expand outward from his core so fast he couldn't stop it bursting out of his mouth in the form of a laugh. Jon sucked in an amused gasp and looked at Tim in shock. Tim laughed as well. "Sorry, I promise I wasn't jealous. I just..." He reached out then, placing his hand on Martin's back and rubbing at and between his shoulder blades. "I guess I'm not built to watch my boyfriend being all sexy with my metamor." 

Jon laughed a bit and cleared his throat. "Yes, well...that's uh, that's good to know. Thank you. For communicating that, I'll - I'll take it into account, I suppose?" 

Tim hummed in appreciation, then asked, "How are you feeling after that?" and Martin shifted, a bit uncomfortable. Jon seemed to mirror him directly. "While we're communicating and all. That kiss was a bit hotter than your usual style." 

Jon didn't respond for a moment, and when Martin looked at him to see why he startled. "Oh, me? Uh -" he hesitated, glancing between them, then sighed and looked down at his food, taking a bite instead. Martin followed his example, getting a good-size forkful of vegetable and noodle eaten, followed by a second one. Tim was still watching them expectantly, and Tim very specifically pushing the communication part of their relationship was doing nothing to help Martin's arousal on a purely intellectual level. Making everyone talk about their feelings usually fell to Martin and it was pretty sexy in an emotional way for either of his boyfriends to take that on themselves. It took Jon a moment to reply though. "It was ah, a little more than...usual. Not quite out of my comfort zone but...more than I'm comfortable with more generally?" He sighed and shook his head. "The real problem of communication is the need for words." 

"Yep." Tim replied. "Unfortunately, we've all got to use them. I had my turn, now it's yours." 

"Or Martin's," Jon deflected, earning a huff and glare from Martin. "Or mine," Jon relented and sighed. Then, "I don't know. I don't really...want to have to justify it every time I enjoy something sexual. A passionate kiss or something otherwise explicitly suggestive shouldn't be cause to question..." 

"I'm not questioning your asexuality, Jon," Tim very nearly snapped, and Martin felt his breathing go shallow as fear that this was about to somehow twist into an argument. "I'm making sure you're alright. That you didn't over indulge." 

Jon blinked, then grumbled, "You know how I feel about that term..." 

"Sorry," Tim replied. "But until you tell me what you want me to call it, anything else feels like beating around the bush." He paused and then added, "Martin is the kind of hot that sneaks up on you though." Martin made a slight, startled noise and whipped his head around to look at Tim, who chuckled. "You are!" Tim insisted, then, to Jon, "Anyway, I don't want you sort-of...slipping on that and getting hurt. That's all. So this is me checking in." 

Jon blew out a hard exhale and his voice was deliberately patient. "Thank you for your concern, Tim. Really." He shifted slightly, leaning into Martin, and Martin reflexively put an arm around his shoulders. Jon reached between Martin's waist and the couch to hold him better. "I'm fine though. I don't know what it means that I'm fine, and I think it's actually better for me to not try to parse it right this second." 

Tim blinked and looked at Jon in surprise. "Really?" he questioned. 

It seemed a little strange. Jon's need to know was, for good or ill, one of his deepest traits as a person. Jon sighed heavily though, as if he definitely didn't want to discuss it. Which was a bit more Jon's speed. Jon would probably be torturing himself with this question for days now, and it wasn't that he didn't want to know. He just didn't want the outside scrutiny, as he was providing enough of his own. He tugged Jon a little closer and Jon made a surprised noise before answering, a bit less indignantly than it seemed he was gearing up to, "Yes, really." 

"Alright," Tim responded with a shrug, and then set about going back to his food. Almost in unison, Jon and Martin balanced their boxes between their legs, Martin between his own and Jon between one of his own and one of Martin's, and set about eating while leaning on one another. Jon was warm and comfortable against Martin's side. His shoulder supporting Martin's neatly, like one of those racks one would hang a mannequin by. Not that Martin identified in any way with mannequins of any kind, god, were there any metaphors that their life hadn't thoroughly corrupted into something creepy? 

A few more bites in, Martin opted to return to conversation. Something more neutral. "So," he started, carefully stabbing a series of vegetables, "We're uh, we're really getting a bedroom and a half each out of a two-bedroom house, huh?" 

Jon snorted. "I swear, I've had entire flats the size of that so-called office." 

"You have not," Tim dismissed. "That office can barely fit a sofa. I'm telling you, use it as an office, and we'll drywall down the basement. I don't need an entire floor to myself." 

Jon shook his head. "I would have thought you'd be arguing to get out of the basement. We certainly all spend enough of our lives in one." Tim chuckled and went back to his food, and Martin did the same, twirling noodles around the fork and vegetables and taking a bite as Jon continued. "But also, I've no interest in having to go outside every time I have to use the restroom. I like living in the 21st century." 

"Spoiled is what you are," Tim teased once he'd swallowed. "Put a staircase and sliding glass door between you and the nearest bathroom and it's the end of the world." 

"Sliding glass door that _will_ be locked at night, Tim. We're right on the end of the row, I'm not leaving it open." 

Tim paled while Martin took his bite, glancing between them. "Don't even joke about leaving it open," he said simply, a slight tremor in his voice. "I'll have the key by my door though." Martin looked at him, trying to place whether he was surprised or not by that reaction. "So I'll always have it." 

"All it would take is forgetting it once..." Jon prompted, in the tone of one beginning to tell a ghost story. 

Tim snorted "And what? I'd have to go back downstairs for it? Oh no. _Exercise_. What a genuinely chilling thought! Martin, can I have the bedroom instead? No wait, that's _upstairs_. What do I do?" 

"Give it a rest," Jon sighed, and Martin chuckled a bit.

Tim shrugged and lifted another forkful, commenting, "You started it," before taking the bite. 

Martin was tempted to scold them not to start that argument. Honestly, when Jon and Tim got to ribbing at each other, they could go for hours. Sometimes it was hilarious, and sometimes it made Martin feel like he was dating preschoolers. Instead, he asked, "How often do you suppose we'll use the master bedroom though?" 

"Well," Tim answered "If you and I start using it less than twice a week we might as well get married." 

Jon frowned. "That's not a great view on marriage, Tim." 

Tim rolled his eyes. "It was a joke. Please, I was joking. The only reason married people have less sex is because they've been together longer. We'll drop down some with or without a wedding." 

"Can we not talk about weddings?" Martin said, hoping they wouldn't ask. They didn't. Instead, Tim made another joke, and Jon complained about it, and the conversation continued. Martin did end up teasing them about fighting like children and after a little while they got up to finish off the packing. There wasn't much left to be done. Final sweeps, cleaning. Moving the furniture, not a lot just a bit, mostly in the general direction of the door, just to ensure that the job of cleaning up underneath it wouldn't take hours out of their morning. 

Tim wasn't actually taller than Martin, but even though Martin had been through the former linen closet, Tim gripped the top shelf and pulled himself up to peek at the empty section. "Make sure there aren't any washcloths stuffed back here," he'd teased. Martin had sighed, expecting him to find nothing. So the call of "Oh! Not a washcloth..." startled him, and brought him to Tim's side as Tim curled back down from having stretched the entire length of his body and arm. 

Martin recognized the object in his hand instantly, and took a physical step back. He didn't know where Jon had been, but he was there a moment later, holding Martin's arm and calling his name. For a second Martin was worried he'd blacked out. How pale must he be? Had he lost time or was Jon just overreacting? Given that Jon's voice was raised and he was telling Tim to...put it down? Probably. "No," he said after a moment. 

"Tim!" Jon repeated, even more urgently. So close to a shout that Martin winced. 

"No, Jon it's -" Despite Martin's weak protest Tim still set the old book, rotted around the edges, down on the empty bottom shelf of the closet and also approached Martin, who huffed out a long, hard sigh. "No, I'm _fine, **really.**_" He hated that his breath shook on inhale. Hated the concerned way Jon and Tim were looking at him. "I...it's just something I forgot. Totally natural. Not a Leitner, just. Perfectly mundane...childhood trauma." 

"Right," Tim responded with a nod. "I'll throw it out." 

He moved to do so, and panic welled up in Martin's chest, straight to his throat and out his mouth until he shouted, "No!" Tim startled, then froze. "No, please that...that's actually the..." He half laughed a bit and approached, finally close enough to get a good look at it. Colorful characters smiled up at him, their bright landscape dimmed by time and...probably worm damage, but Martin pushed that thought as far away as he could and tried to reconcile with the memory of the thing. He smiled at it and, trying desperately to stop his hands from trembling, pulled open the cover. 

The photo was undamaged, and for a horrible, sinking moment Martin thought it'd been replaced with a newer one. But no, the man in that photo wasn't him. The boy was though. Standing proud between both parents, younger than Martin could properly remember being, although looking at it he knew that the dark grey and purple striped jumper was new. A reward for being brave at the dentist. Which explained why he was smiling like that despite a not insignificant number of visibly missing teeth. Martin couldn't quite remember an exact number but he did know his mother had tried to persuade him toward a more sensible color. She'd almost succeeded until his dad had defended his tastes.

His dad. 

Wearing a dark red polo, not a color or style Martin was keen on for himself, better fitting on Tim. Maybe that contributed to the inherent wrongness of seeing himself in the face of the man he could hardly remember. The same thick, not-quite-blond curls and soft shape. Same cheekbones, jutting out of an otherwise round face to make what Martin remembered in a painful burst that his ex use to call a diamond shape. 

Martin turned the page behind the photo, revealing in surprisingly well colored images of children he dimly remembered from a somewhat niche children's show. He turned a second page and choked out a little sob as his fingers brushed rotted paper at the corner, and he swallowed back the start of a gag. A long breath through his nose and he managed a wet laugh that made him aware his eyes had misted over. "Always...always use to color Opal dark-skinned. Don't know why, she was white in the cartoon, I watched that. No concept of diversity or anything I just. Thought she looked better brown." 

"Really?" Jon asked, the surprise in his voice blunted by concern and, unless Martin was mistaken, affection.

He fought back the idea that it'd be just like him to be mistaken and instead closed the coloring book and stepped back to take Jon's hand. "Sorry I frightened you. It's just a coloring book." 

Jon breathed a heavy sigh and squeezed Martin's hand. "Yes, I know. I was...alarmed for a moment but I've...gotten a closer look. It looks damaged?" The question wasn't even phrased as a question, just turned up at the end to ask several questions at once. 

Martin heard all of them, he just wasn't sure how well he could answer them all. "I hid it," he explained. "The picture, mostly, but the book too. When dad left, I hid it so it wouldn't get thrown away." 

Jon still looked confused, like another question was on the tip of his tongue. Tim spoke first. "I think we're done," he said, voice gone just a little hard. Jon looked at Tim and Martin closed the space between them, hugging Jon hard around the waist and leaning down to rest his head on the smaller man's shoulder. "All packed. Any cleaning left to do is for while I'm driving everything down to Vauxhall tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow?" Martin echoed, lifting his head off of Jon's shoulder to glance at Tim. 

Tim nodded. "I figure we'll meet at the new house, sign the paperwork, you can get us all copies of the keys while I pick up the moving van?" 

"Meet?" Martin echoed, pulling back from Jon a bit but keeping an arm firmly around him. "You're not leaving?" 

Tim hesitated "I hadn't...planned on staying over..." 

"It's dark!" Martin nearly shouted. Jon winced and Martin tugged him closer with a mumbled apology. Then he looked back up at Tim. "You should definitely stay over. Both of you. It's much too late to head home. It's not safe." 

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Both of us? At once? There's a reason we're springing for the King-sized bed in the new place, Martin." 

"I'll take the couch." Jon put in quickly, earning a glance from both of them. Then, "Martin's right. I didn't even think about it." Tim huffed and Jon added "You don't have to stay if you really don't want, Tim. The best case scenario of you leaving though is that Martin stews and worries until you call, safe from home, and brings that with him to the house tomorrow." 

Tim hesitated and glanced between the two of them. "Yeah, alright," he said, then "I'm sorry, Martin. I didn't mean I don't want to stay with you I just -" 

Martin nodded. "I understand." And he did. Tim hated feeling trapped. Hated staying anywhere not of his own free will. A bit like a cat that way, you had to leave a door open for him. And if you had to close one so he wouldn't wander into traffic, you had to be sure it was in a suitably enriching environment. Martin had never owned a cat, but he definitely knew how to enrich Tim's environment. He pulled away from Jon and took the step and a half to his other boyfriend, reaching out and catching him by the arms just above the elbows. Then he leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. Only just more than a peck. "I'd want you to stay even if it weren't dangerous to go," he added, leaning in a bit. Tim let their foreheads rest lightly together and they both smiled. Martin glanced at Jon who approached cautiously. "It...feels right that we go in together. All of us. Feels right that I spend my last night here with the reasons I'm leaving." 

"Sap," Tim teased.

Martin gave a short, but genuinely amused laugh. "It's literally my job in this relationship. I'm the best at looking after feelings."

Tim shifted, then nodded and pulled back. "Say goodnight to Jon," he said after a moment. "I'll meet you in your room." Then Tim turned and was gone. 

Martin forced out a long, hard breath and turned to face Jon, who was standing closer than Martin had realized. He smiled gently and leaned in to kiss him softly as well. He only lingered for a second before starting to pull back, but Jon chased him, continuing and deepening their more typical closed-mouth kiss, lips pressed hard together and giving against each other. Martin made a soft sound under the pressure before Jon pulled back and smiled at him. Martin returned the smile and asked, "You weren't really going to head out at this hour, were you?" 

"If you wanted me to," Jon answered, a bit too romantically. Martin smirked and lightly slapped his arm. "Ow," he protested, so mildly that Martin was certain it hadn't worked. "What was that for?" 

"You know what," Martin answered. Rather than getting into it though, he leaned in to kiss Jon again. 

It was another long kiss. Deep and sweet, before Jon pulled back and smiled softly. "Tomorrow," he said. "Just one more night." 

"Tomorrow," Martin echoed, then laughed a bit. "You're still sure about this?" 

Jon returned the soft slap. "Now _ you_ stop _that_." He laughed a bit and commented, "If I gain anything from this...polyamory...it's that Tim is astoundingly accurate at reading my emotions and translating them correctly. Tim and I almost died. Sasha...changed. Twice. The first time without us even knowing! I've wasted far too much time with you, and not jumping in is just asking for more regrets." 

Martin nudged at Jon's nose with his own, and followed it with a soft peck on the lips. "Goodnight, Jon," he said gently. Then, maybe a bit more seriously than he ought to have, "I love you." 

"I love you," Jon returned softly. Then he smiled and leaned up, lifting fully onto his toes and Martin only thought to dip his head at the last moment so Jon could kiss his forehead as well. Then Jon started out to the living room. 

"Do you need blankets or anything?" Martin called after him. 

"The box with spare blankets is out here!" Jon called back. "I'll open it if I need one." 

Martin nodded and headed back to his bedroom, where he found Tim, sans both shirt and trousers, sitting on his bed. Tim reached for him and Martin laughed slightly as he approached. He stood in front of Tim and leaned over to kiss him. Kissing Tim had always been a thoroughly different experience than kissing Jon. Sometimes such a precise opposite that Martin wondered if it'd be even physically possible for them to have a remotely satisfying snog with each other. Maybe if he presented it as a curiosity they might actually try it someday, but for now he was content with the diverse experience. 

Tim's kisses were slow, and deep, and twisting tongues and the slow drag of lips and scrape of teeth and suddenly Tim pulled back with the most mischievous look on his face. Martin realized too late that Tim's arms were wrapped around him and reaching up over his back. Then suddenly Tim was tipping backwards and dragging Martin with him and Martin sucked in a hard breath to keep from screaming and threw his hands forward to catch himself on the bed above Tim so his full weight wouldn't slam into his boyfriend with the force of gravity and momentum behind it. He was only so successful and Tim made a recognizable "Oof" noise as Martin's weight knocked the air out of both of them when they collided and left Martin cackling as he buried his face into Tim's shoulder. 

"Tim!" he gasped. "What...What _ was_ that? Why'd you..." 

"Wanted you on top of me," Tim answered, breathlessly. Martin was almost certain it was mostly just the fact that he'd had the air knocked out of him, but he wanted to think Tim was also trying to be sexy. He smiled and made a move to roll off his his boyfriend but Tim's arms clenched around his back and held him in place. "Still do." 

"Tim, I'm...squishing you," Martin protested. 

Tim hummed a bit as he breathed. "I know. It's lovely." 

"Tim!" Martin protested again, laughing this time. 

"What?" Tim demanded, sounding recovered already. "I can't enjoy being laid on?" 

"You and Jon, I swear. Should get you both weighted blankets," Martin muttered. 

Tim made a considering noise. Then, "You're much nicer than a weighted blanket." 

"Oh?" 

"Mmhmm." Tim nodded, then leaned up a little, eyes sparkling. "For starters, I can't do this to a weighted blanket." 

For a second, Martin just thought Tim was burying his face in his neck and he laughed again. Then he felt the press of lips, the soft scrape of teeth and the wet tracing of tongue from his earlobe down to his pulse point. His laugh morphed into a moan and he grabbed Tim's arms a bit harder, shifting unconsciously against him as Tim began trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses back up his neck and nipped at his ear. "Tim..." Martin breathed before Tim dropped his head against the mattress and looked up at him. 

"You're gorgeous," Tim breathed after a moment, and Martin flushed. Looked away involuntarily. So of course Tim did the thing where he caught hold of Martin's chin and pulled him back to meet his gaze. Tim just looking up at him, and Martin felt a chill run through him. 

"Tim..." It was probably the thing he said most often in this relationship. Tim's name. A gentle protest, or reproach. Sometimes even laughing. He said Tim's name a lot. Almost always quietly. He was never prepared for the way it made Tim look at him. 

"You are," Tim insisted. He pressed a soft, playful kiss to the tip of Martin's nose. "And if you don't believe me you've just got to wiggle a bit and you'll have all the proof you need." 

"Tim!" Martin gasped, laughing. Tim kissed him and suddenly they were rolling diagonally. They ended not all the way up the bed, but all the way across it, feet still dangling off at the knee, and with Tim on top. Tim looked down at him like that. The way he did. The way that said just how much, how highly, he thought of Martin. Martin's breath caught and then Tim was kissing him again. 

Sometimes, Martin wondered about kissing. What ancient man first decided that putting his food hole against someone else's food hole was a good way to show them affection? Was the urge to taste a basic part of sexual development? If so, why? It was a ridiculous thing to wonder. Something with no real answer. Maybe he just liked to think there was some prehistoric genius he owed some of the best moments of his life to. 

He was brought, rather forcibly, back to the moment by Tim's teeth catching his bottom lip and pulling. All his breath left him and he arced up into Tim's body as his boyfriend bit and sucked at his lip and then let go. As soon as they were apart Martin leaned up to kiss him again, arms going around his shoulders and pulling in a long breath through his nose so he wouldn't have to break away from Tim for a long time. 

As they laid there, connected, lips shifting and tongues gently dragging against and tasting each other, Tim began to move his hips as well. A slow, steady rocking that caught against Martin's cock, which had already begun taking notice of the pressure of Tim's body against his and all the kissing. It wasn't the first motion that elicited a moan from Martin. He didn't know how many times Tim rolled back and pressed down against him before the sound escaped him. "That's it," Tim growled when it did, reaching down and tugging at Martin's t-shirt. "Take off your shirt," he demanded, while curling his fingers in it as if to do it for him. Martin leaned up the best he could, but almost fell back down and caught himself with one arm, using the other to help Tim pull up the t-shirt. 

Tim sat up a little as he pulled up Martin's t-shirt and Martin followed for a moment. Just long enough to get the offending garment off before collapsing back against the bed. Tim stayed seated, now straddling Martin's hips. He was still looking down at Martin like that and Martin didn't know why he expected otherwise. He could only smile up at him and hope he looked the same. That Tim knew just from meeting his eyes how much he meant to him. How much this meant to him. 

Then Tim deliberately rocked his hips with a mischievous smirk and Martin cried out, then swore under his breath and laughed. Tim laughed as well and whispered conspiratorially. "Do you think Jon heard that?" 

"I don't know!" Martin hissed, then he laughed again before Tim rocked his hips again and the laughter shifted to a much quieter moan. Then Tim leaned in and went right, curling down before he closed his lips over Martin's left collarbone and nipped gently at it. Martin pulled a sharp breath in through his nose as Tim crawled back, kissing down the left side of his chest to his nipple. Initially the little nub there got a kiss like every other spot between, but then Tim gave it another kiss, this one with a teasing tip of tongue winding around it and drawing another breath from Martin and had him reach down to grab the blanket at the same time. 

Then Tim kept going. 

"Tim..." Martin protested again. Tim didn't listen, he never did. He crawled farther down and rested a hand on the right side of Martin's belly while he continued pressing kisses down the left side of the upper part of Martin's stomach, stopping naturally at the belt-line and then, of all things, _nosing_ at his trousers. "Tim!" Martin laughed. 

"Oh, I have to ask you to take them off?" Tim joked, glancing up at him. 

Martin huffed and breathed "Jon is _right out there..._

Tim snickered slightly. “After the show I got earlier?” he joked, “He deserves it.” Martin fixed Tim with a soft glare and Tim sighed. "I can be quiet if you can." 

Martin weighed this for a moment, then nodded. "Alright," he agreed finally, then repeated "Yeah, alright," before reaching down and undoing his pants. Then he stopped again, conversations he'd had with Jon about subjects very near this one running through his mind. "It’s...a bit different than when he just watches us snogging though, isn’t it? You don’t mind if he hears...this?" 

Tim paused and turned his head, considering. "What, would he...join in or something?" 

"I wish," Martin huffed, earning laughter from Tim, then, "I'm not that lucky though. No, but, he's said he wouldn't mind, ah, witnessing. I doubt he'd just come watch like a creeper or something but..." He trailed off and shrugged. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind listening." 

"Part of me wants to check with him on that," Tim commented, then, "I suppose that'd ruin the surprise though. Kinks like voyeurism are...a whole conversation to do perfectly ethically, and having that conversation is like...playing dice with your boner. And since this would involve Jon I don't like my odds." 

Martin choked on his laughter and swatted Tim's arm. "No accounting for taste," he grumbled teasingly. 

Tim grinned. "My thoughts exactly." Martin rolled his eyes, and Tim's grin faded. "Honestly though, you've talked with him about that? You're not just assuming because he's a nosy prat?" 

Martin shifted, going over the times they'd touched on the subject. One sort of carefully agreed on sexual stimulus or another and sometimes Jon would ask _Is that what you look like for Tim?_ in such a gentle, almost wistful sort of voice. Or a petulant _I wish I didn't have to _do_anything to get you to make that noise._ And yes, they had discussed that Jon would be happy to...sit in...on Tim and Martin's time together. All the same he wasn't quite sure how to answer that. Tim watched him carefully, expectantly, as he thought. "...I'm sure," Martin said after a moment. Then, to clarify, "He uh, prefers sex when it's...not happening to him." 

Tim considered that a moment, then snorted. "I honestly don't know why I'm surprised. That sounds exactly like him." Then he paused and added, "Pretty sure there's a word for that. I'll do some research. Maybe we can finally come up with an alternative for asexual." 

Martin groaned. "Maybe check with Jon before you start doing research on his sexuality? You know how he gets." 

Tim shrugged then "Either way, I'm through talking about Jon." Then he shifted and grabbed Martin's trousers, and his boxers under them at once, and pulled them off in a single motion that left Martin to yelp in surprise at the sudden rush of air over his definitely-harder-than-he-expected cock even as he lifted his hips to cooperate with being stripped naked. 

Tim was flexible and fast and so Martin wasn't even totally sure how he ended up by the foot of the bed. Martin used the opportunity to straighten out though, and wiggle that last bit of distance to his pillow. Of course,his left foot - why was Tim so focused on his left today? - was captured right where it was and he didn't get to take that very far. Luckily, Tim started his kisses above the ankle. Martin still wasn't sure how he could stand it. "Tim -" he giggled, digging his heel into the mattress so he didn't kick involuntarily when Tim's breath shifted the hair on his shin and tickled his skin. Then he got to the knee and for some unfathomable reason _nipped_ lightly at the skin on the side of his knee, just in front of the bend. 

Or maybe not so unfathomable, as it apparently worked and the sensation shot right up to Martin's cock and he reached for Tim with one hand, finding his gradually approaching shoulder and curling his fingers toward the side of Tim's neck. His other hand rested on his own thigh, consciously stopped on its instinctive route to his erection, which he trusted Tim to get to in time. 

Sure enough Tim kissed up the inside of his thigh and Martin squeezed his shoulder. Tim's nose pressed right between Martin's leg and pelvis. "Tim I -" Martin started, but that was as far as he got into his protest that he hadn't even showered that day and that his crevices had to be gross. Then Tim turned his head just slightly and licked Martin's balls and Martin cried out in surprise and, of course, at the sensation. 

Tim went in for a few more strokes with his tongue and Martin was left with what wanted to be a moan caught in his throat, escaping one tiny choked warble at a time. Then Tim finally dragged his tongue up Martin's shaft and closed his mouth over the widening, reddening head and sucked and the moan escaped in full, loud but strangled, and catapulting into a cry partway through. 

It was strange. Sometimes they could get this far, further, without Martin making a sound. He wasn't even being particularly free with his reactions. It was, he realized, perhaps because of the tension he'd carried for the last two days. Or maybe it was just the way Tim kept looking up at him, eyes lifted while his head began slowly, deliberately bobbing over Martin's cock. Whatever it was, Martin was glad of it because as the sensation forced another, clearer moan out of him he thought of Jon out in the living room. Wondered what he was thinking, hearing this. 

"Tim -" Martin breathed, squeezing Tim's shoulder. Today had been exhausting. A lot of physical labor and some emotional ups and downs he would never be fully prepared for. He wasn't quite close yet but once he was there'd be no going back, and if he got off then he'd be falling asleep before he could reciprocate. So he repeated "Tim!" with a little more urgency and pushed at Tim's shoulder instead of squeezing.

Tim obeyed instantly, pulling off of Martin's cock with an audible pop and looking at him, concerned. "You alright?" he asked gently, stroking Martin's thigh. 

"I'm fine," Martin assured him. "Just, it's...your turn. Or, my turn? It's..." He huffed a bit and spelled it out. "If you get me off I'll fall asleep without reciprocating." 

Tim blinked at him, then said, "That's fine," in that one tone that infuriated Martin more than most others. Benevolently dismissive. 

"It's not," Martin argued. Tim just looked at him and Martin sighed. He could get into it. He could talk about how Tim shouldn't prioritize him like that. How with the lives they led that was a slippery slope. He could start that argument, really get into it. Here, now, the night before he left his childhood home to be with this man. Or he could let it go. Find a way around it. Find a way to be there for Tim as well. Just like he'd have to do for the rest of his life. He sighed and then smirked at his boyfriend. "I mean, unless you're cool with Jon's fingers being the only things I suck on tonight." 

Tim startled and then laughed. "Well when you put it like that I'm not," he said through his laughter, shifting to lean back on the bed, expertly tugging his boxers off as he went. Martin took the moment to admire the fluidity of Tim's movement, deliberately erring toward appreciation over envy, two emotions that had always warred when looking at Tim, as long as they'd known each other. It stopped being an effort to choose appreciation when he got a good look at Tim's erection. 

He didn't move nearly as smoothly as he shifted, first onto his knees, then forward onto his stomach so he faced the foot of the bed and came to rest between Tim's knees. He rested one hand on Tim's thigh and reached, initially, down and under Tim's balls, caressing them gently. Running his fingers through the coarse hair growing on his sack so his fingertips just brushed the wrinkled skin. Tim's breath caught and Martin felt a little thrill of pride, even months into their relationship. 

He gripped only the slightest bit more firmly, pressing down on Tim's thigh with his other hand as he leaned in and forward, feeling for a moment like he was chasing the head of Tim's cock with his lips. His lower lip caught on a fold of foreskin and he leaned in to cover the head with his mouth, running his tongue first in a circle around then over the slit before sucking. He earned a deep moan and Tim's hand in his hair followed by a heavy "Fuck, Martin..." in a voice that made his own cock twitch with anticipation. 

He shifted down just a little, enough for his lips to better curl under the head and keep a secure hold on Tim's cock and position himself so the wider base of his tongue could do more work than the more precise tip. Of course, it was hard to get his tongue to do much of anything while he was actively sucking, so he alternated, and it got exactly the desired response. 

Tim was loud, louder than Martin had been definitely and he only took it for a few moments before he pulled at Martin's hair with enough force that Martin pulled off of his cock and looked up at him questioningly, suddenly concerned that he'd done something wrong. Tim's expression was intense, not quite angry but of a similar severity and Martin had a rush of adrenaline that wasn't quite fear but also of a similar severity. He sat up, pushing himself off of his stomach and rolling backwards until he was sitting. He was mid-motion when Tim began crawling for him and the thrilling sensation of being singularly pursued ripped through the moment before Tim growled, "I'm going to fuck you," and kissed him hard.

About two seconds into the kiss, Martin became acutely aware that they had just been sucking each other's dicks. Which wasn't inherently a bad thing, it just made for a rather unpleasantly flavored kiss. Martin pulled away quickly and Tim startled. "Sorry," Martin mumbled. 

"You're fine," Tim assured, the ferocity, unfortunately, gone from his voice. Martin deflated slightly and Tim looked even more concerned. "What is it?" 

Martin wrinkled his nose. "I warned you about taste," he commented. Tim blinked, then laughed. Martin's thoughts once again were drawn to Jon, who could probably hear every moment of this, if not every word. "Sorry, I love kissing you and what you did there was really, really hot -"  
Tim changed again in an instant, a sudden hunger glinting in his eye and his jaw setting in a new way that left Martin breathless mid-sentence. "Was it?" Tim asked, and he leaned in. He didn't kiss on the mouth this time, rather far back on the jaw, just below Martin's earlobe, and then down. Down the side of his neck with open-mouthed kisses and Martin couldn't help the little sound, embarrassingly like a squeak, that escaped him. He made it again when Tim's teeth scraped at the junction between his neck and shoulder and then outright yelped when he found himself suddenly falling back on the bed. It was a near thing with hitting his head on the headboard but instead it just landed a bit higher on the pillows than he would like. He laughed out, "Tim, scoot down, we're too high up the bed." 

Tim grumbled a bit and complied and Martin followed underneath him, then, as Tim hovered over him, hands resting on Martin's thighs, pushing them apart, Martin felt a sigh push out of him and "Are you sure though? It's been a long day and there's a lot of -" 

"Do you not want it?" Tim interrupted. 

Martin deflated. Tim was starting to sound frustrated and Martin didn’t blame him. "I'm sorry -" he rushed to add, "I definitely want _something_ I just - I think anal might be a bit much tonight?" He hesitated, trying to read Tim's expression and largely failing. 

So it was a complete surprise when Tim laughed again a moment later. "Thank god," Tim breathed. "I do not have the patience for that and also you are all kinds of tense so I really _really_ do not have the patience for that.." Martin joined him in laughter and Tim leaned in and nuzzled him, then commented, "Don't worry, we'll do anal another time. Frotting good for now?" 

Martin considered, then wished he’d simply agreed so they could get on with it already, than realized he’d hesitated too long and now he had to voice his thoughts or risk farther concerned attempts at communication. "Remind me of the difference between frotting and grinding?" 

Tim considered, then shrugged. "Officially? I don't know. In practice, I figured I'd do a bit of hand stuff to us both at once?" 

Martin chuckled. "Look at you, Mr. Lexicon of sex terms not knowing something," he teased. 

Tim shook his head. "Martin. I'm tired, I'm horny, I'm excited for a lot of very intimacy and relationship progression related reasons for the first time in my life, there's potentially a voyeuristic metamour of mine listening to some amount of this or another and enjoying this to an unknown degree which absolutely sets off my exhibitionist and mystery kinks, and - oh yeah, I have my very sexy boyfriend underneath me, also horny, and I'm dying to fuck him. My ability to think and remember arbitrary facts is severely compromised at the moment." 

Martin laughed and leaned up to kiss Tim's cheek. He was distracted by the contrast between the roughness of a weekend's stubble and the softness of the skin underneath. He kissed farther back toward the back of Tim's jaw, then playfully nipped at Tim's earlobe before relaxing against the pillow again. He looked up at Tim for a moment and Tim paused a moment, looking down at him, smiling softly. Martin returned the smile and breathed, "I love you, you know." 

"I know," Tim answered. Then, after a much too long beat where it seemed Tim might leave it at that, he added, "I love you too." Then he shifted his weight slightly and got a hand between their bodies and then there was soft pressure on first two, than all sides of his still-erect cock. In theory, he knew he could tell the subtle differences between the weight of Tim's erection resting against his own, held in place by Tim's thumb while the pad of his palm pressed against one side, fingers circling underneath and around the other side. In practice, all Martin could feel was heat, and varied pressure, and after a moment, friction. 

Tim had his opposite hand on Martin's hip. Martin only realized this when Tim began guiding him in shallow thrusts to match Tim's own into his hand, to keep them more or less in sync, but not so closely that their erections didn't drag slightly on one another, just adding to the friction, complicating the sensation and drawing out a gasp that caught in Martin's throat until it became a long moan. 

After that he lost track of the sounds he was making. Of the details of Tim's movements, or his own. He was aware of Tim's weight. Not quite fully rested on him, supported by at least one arm and one knee but also not fully supported. Random points of contact between their skin that he couldn't identify because he was close enough everywhere to feel the heat from his body. He was aware of Tim's eyes, full of need and desire and of Tim's lips, full and tempting even from this angle even right now. 

Mostly though, he felt the bursts of pleasure that flared all the way up into his abdomen at irregular times. He felt the slow building of sensation that drew his hips toward its source ahead of Tim's gentle pull at his hip, adding an extra note to the rhythm they were finding. He knew he wasn't quiet, he knew he wasn't still. His hands wandered Tim's back and backside and he let himself be perhaps more vocal than he would have if not for the possibility that Jon wanted to listen. He didn't hold anything back. 

For a second, he thought that might have been a bad idea. The instant after the point of no return but just before letting go. The moment Martin warned, "Tim, I'm -" he was fairly convinced he was much too far ahead of Tim and that this was about to be very embarrassing. That conviction didn't take much out of the moment though. He was gripping Tim's shoulder blade, he realized, right alongside his spine with one hand. Tim was lucky Martin didn't have much in the way of fingernails because what there was of them on the other hand was currently digging into Tim's arse cheek. He spilled on Tim's hand and his own abdomen and, to his surprise, a moment later Tim did the same with a strangled cry. 

It only took a couple of gasps to catch his breath, and Tim's breathing only seemed to shake for a moment before he leaned in and pressed his lips to the back of Martin's jaw, just under his earlobe, and then shifted to his side, rolling off of Martin and falling to lay beside him with a laugh. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "Yeah, that's the good stuff. Right out of a romance novel." 

Martin couldn't help but laugh then, and Tim joined him, curling against his side. Martin reached out to get an arm under his boyfriend's head and Tim complied by curling in further to rest on his shoulder. He could think about cleaning up later. 

In the living room, Jon felt the need to think about cleaning up much more urgently. 

Perhaps it wasn't at all unusual to be spurred to masturbation by someone you were attracted to making graphically sexual sounds in another room. Jon hadn't expected any such thing of himself, so while he wasn't surprised to find some comfort in the idea that he was a distant party to Tim pleasuring Martin sexually, the erection was definitely a surprise. 

He'd taken care of it, of course, in the simplest way possible while the noises persisted. Now that it was over he felt...dirty. In both literal and figurative senses. The literal sense was easy enough to fix, he'd rucked up his shirt and tugged his pants and underwear far enough down that there were no remnants of his indiscretion on his clothes. Just his hand and stomach. He kicked off the pants and underwear entirely as he stood and walked to the bathroom, realizing only as he did so that he had to walk past Martin's bedroom to get there. He did so as quickly and silently as he could. 

Of course all of the washcloths had been packed, but rinsing himself in the sink was easy enough. If particularly humiliating having to take the time to ensure his semen washed down the drain and there was no residue left on his skin. Then he simply dried his hand on his shirt and tugged his shirt down as he stepped out of the restroom again in the hopes that, if Martin or especially Tim did notice him, they wouldn't see anything. 

"Jon?" Martin called from the bedroom as he passed. 

Jon stopped and leaned around the door, half-hidden by it. "Y-yes?" he asked. 

"Did you enjoy the show?" Tim asked, voice so full of that dry humor of his that it set Jon's teeth on edge at times. Mostly because it was so close to his own. 

This time though, it mostly just unbalanced him. "I wasn't watching,." he promised. "Honest, I just..." 

"I know,." Martin interrupted. "Tim was just. Teasing. Meanly." The final word was a scolding aimed at Tim, and accompanied by a playful slap on his arm. The pair of them looked good together, Jon realized with a not unfamiliar pang. Martin's skin was red, and bright, as if from exertion, and his entire posture was relaxed and gently inclined towards Tim. Tim, for his part, looked like a television character in a morning after scene. "You couldn't have not listened to that if you'd tried, and I'm really sorry about that. I should have talked to you before -" he hesitated, then "Well...before being so..." 

Jon huffed a bit, then hesitated. "Wait were you -" Martin hesitated as well and Tim just grinned widely. "On purpose?" Martin nodded guiltily and Jon sucked a breath in through his teeth and blew it out again. 

Tim's smile faded. "Jon, if we made you uncomfortable..." 

"No, no it's not that,." Jon answered. He managed a slight smile. "If anything, I'm relieved. Although -" Hhe took a bit of a breath and then, "I don't think now is the best time to discuss this." 

"Agreed." Martin nodded. "It's time for bed. We'll have plenty of time coming up to talk about this and...other things...that we'll all like. Yeah?" 

Tim hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Plenty of time." But there was a note of irony to his voice. 

Jon chuckled a little bitterly, but none of them commented. They were moving in together because life was too short to waste. But they were too tired to discuss, well...kinks...tonight, and were counting on some sort of future to carry their promise of communication. The fact that they were all aware of this unspoken irony and none of them commented on it was a moment of connection between them though. Martin leaned over onto Tim and Jon took that as a dismissal, and proceeded back to the couch for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

The purchase and loan was in all three of their names, but Tim’s name was actually first on the contracts, followed by Jon’s and finally Martin’s. Once he had signed the last document, Martin couldn't tell if there actually was a definitive change in the atmosphere in the small kitchen of his new home, or if he just expected one so sincerely that he felt it regardless. 

It was _his._

_**Theirs**_.

Tim put an arm around his shoulders and Martin buried his face into Tim's shoulder. Jon rested a hand on Martin's back and Martin took a few deep breaths to compose himself. He wasn't sobbing or even really crying, he was just overwhelmed. Even that much was embarrassing to happen right in front of their realtor. It was worse because she was also...almost a friend. 

When he pulled away from his boyfriends’ reassuring touches, she was offering him an understanding smile. "I'm happy for you, Mr. Blackwood." She paused a beat, then added, "All three of you." 

"Thanks, Helen," Martin smiled at her, then, after taking a breath that was shakier than he'd like, he added "and, congratulations on the sale!" 

Helen laughed, and Jon was quick to add, "Yes, congratulations!" 

"Don't be so enthusiastic," she scolded. "It's not my first since I got home." 

Jon made a pleased noise that was just slightly too offended to be a laugh. "Helen!" he scolded. "You didn't tell me!" 

She grinned broadly at him. "It was literally yesterday. I've been busy, Jon. You three were making it too easy on me. Honestly. 'Maybe Vauxhall' 'Oh, there's a two-and-two with an office...' 'sold', that simple!" She laughed again and all three of them joined her as she began gathering up the paperwork and closing it away in her portfolio. "Really, though," she added, "congratulations on your new home." 

"Thank you," Jon replied, with echoes from Tim and Martin. 

Jon walked Helen to her car while Tim and Martin started out the back door to investigate the small yard that came with the house, as well as the steps down into Tim's basement. Before she could get in though, he stopped her and inquired gently, "How have you been?" 

"Busy," she answered simply. "I told you." 

Jon frowned a little. "No nightmares, then?" 

Helen sighed and smiled sadly at him, and took Jon's hand gently. "None with you in them," she assured him. 

The relief that went through Jon was instantaneous, and seemed to nearly melt him. Then he stiffened again. "...or Sasha?" 

Helen stiffened as well, and shrugged slightly. "Not as the villain, at any rate." She turned, as if to get into her car, then hesitated. "Have you seen her?" 

"Not recently." Jon admitted. Then, a further admission "...Not since she brought you back, actually." 

Helen shrugged a little. "Can't blame her," she said, and Jon winced, then nodded. Helen sighed a little and put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Can't blame you either." She squeezed gently, then let go and actually opened her car door and slid inside, calling out behind her, "Congratulations on your home!" before shutting it and driving off. 

Jon walked through the house, past the drywalled-off corner office that would be his bedroom, down the line where the thick living room carpet ended and the kitchen tile began to the back glass door, and out through it, where it seemed Martin and Tim had encountered a neighbor. 

"We finally rooted out the last of them in 2014," said an old woman with a short shock of platinum hair and a metallic bronze mu-mu. "So I'm sorry to say you won't be getting any fresh zucchini from me." 

"Sounds like you've had quite the battle back here, Ms. McDonald," Tim commented, tone amused. "I'm sorry to have missed it."

Ms. McDonald shrugged. "I exaggerated my role, it's mostly been Dorothy out here. I just buy all her gardening supplies and sometimes sit with her and pretend to pull weeds for a few hours. Also I was responsible for giving away the zucchini for a couple years there - " she paused and, smiling widely, adding, "I'm also the one who stopped her from planting mint back here in ‘07, I'll take your thanks whenever." 

"Oh, _Christ_," Martin muttered. "Thank you, Ms. McDonald. Really." 

"Do I want to know what's wrong with mint?" Tim asked. 

Jon and Martin winced in unison at the question, and Martin answered, "Nothing if you keep it in a pot." Tim just blinked, and Martin added, "Think her story with zucchini, but...about a million times worse, and it would spread through the entire row and probably beyond." 

"I missed the zucchini story?" Jon interjected lightly. 

"Afraid so," Ms. McDonald answered, then added, "Who's this then?" gesturing at Jon. 

Martin hesitated, glancing between Jon, Tim, and the old woman. Jon realized rather suddenly maybe they ought to have worked out what to tell the neighbors about their rather unconventional relationship. Eventually, with a shaky sigh, Martin opted for the truth. "He's...also my boyfriend. We're all moving in together." 

The old woman glanced between Tim and Jon for a moment, then huffed a bit. "Well, you have a type," she declared. Jon startled and looked at Tim, who had reacted much the same. 

"I'm sorry?" Tim said, turning back to Ms. McDonald. 

"You heard me," she responded. "And I didn't say that was a bad thing, so don't go looking at me like that." 

Jon's mind raced, staring at Tim's broad shoulders, his casually styled hair, his tanned but ultimately still white skin. Mentally contrasted it with his own angular thinness, utilitarian haircut, and his darker skin. Tim seemed just as lost as he was as to what the woman was talking about, although they realized at about the same time that perhaps she meant their scars. Which had certainly become a notable mutual feature. 

"They're different enough I don't get bored," Martin joked, and the old woman absolutely roared with laughter. Jon turned his shocked expression on Martin, certain that Tim was doing the same until he heard Tim also burst into laughter. 

Jon glanced half-frantically between them just long enough for Ms. McDonald to comment through her laughter, "Oh, I see what you mean," and Jon momentarily felt as though he'd just been insulted. Between Martin, Tim, and this strange woman laughing, after a bit he couldn't resist and a few chuckles escaped him as well, although his face felt as though it were on fire. 

"Honestly, I'm surprised," Martin commented, his laughter dying down to a glowing smile. "Most people don't notice the similarities. Especially not so quickly." 

Ms. McDonald laughed a beat more. "Hon, I worked in private security for almost forty years. Noticing things about people is an old habit I'll never be rid of. Dorothy hates when I point things out about someone when we're out together. Calls me a gossip. I try to say I'm not gossiping, just making an observation, but she doesn't believe me!" 

There was another round of light laughter and a little more conversation before Ms. McDonald, or Crystal as she began to insist they call her, invited them over for dinner. "We're no chefs, it's all from the box, but Dorothy use to host Thanksgivings so she knows how to cook for a crowd." 

Martin hesitated, and Jon looked at him questioningly. it was certainly a kind enough offer. He still didn't understand a beat later when Martin turned the questioning look on him. He was still confused until Tim commented "Jon's got a few allergies..." at which point he rolled his eyes.

"They're not serious though." he interjected. "Honestly, unless you plan on cooking with jasmine or penicillin I'll be fine." 

Crystal laughed, as Jon intended. He was rarely successful with lines like that. It was a bit of a relief to find his neighbor was easily amused. "Long as you don't have a problem with nuts or gluten I think we're okay." 

"Fine with both, thankfully," Jon assured her. 

He and Martin were both equal parts quietly excited and terrified by a new friendship with neighbor. They discussed it on the trip back to Martin's old house while Tim headed up to rent the moving van. "I just...hope they don't have a lot of questions about what we do, you know?" Martin said nervously, pressing against Jon's side in the seat as their fingers laced together between them. 

"I'm trying to work out an excuse there." Jon admitted. "Something about...I don't know. When you file ghost stories for a living they stop being good dinner conversation?" 

"Ooohh, that's good!" Martin praised. "So if just saying Magnus Institute doesn't make everything instantly awkward we'll have that to fall back on." He squeezed Jon's hand gently. 

Jon nodded. "Especially if they start to get curious." 

Martin hissed a bit through his teeth and then sighed. "I hate to be stereotypical but I really hope shutting down the topic doesn't make them start nosing around or anything. That'd be..." 

"About the worst way it could go, yeah." He paused. "Maybe have a talk with Sasha if you see her?" 

Martin made a sound between a snort and a huff. "Oh, that's great. ‘Hey, as a mate, do you mind not eating our new neighbors? They're just sweet old ladies and we'd really like to keep them around. Especially since word is one of them cooks and gardens.’" 

"At right about our level too!" Jon enthused, taking the opportunity, however vague, to change the direction of the conversation. He was ready to be done with fearing for the lives of others. At least for today. 

Martin nodded "I've been wanting to do a really proper pollinator garden for a long time. You know I try to make sure all my window boxes are good for the bees..." 

They just chattered like that, normal things. Like gardens and neighbors and dinners. It was happy enough to feel like it ought to be an ending. Of course it wasn't though, that's not now life worked. It continued being happy enough that Jon was glad of that, and Tim arrived at Martin's old home barely twenty minutes after they did. 

"That's it then," Martin said when the house was empty. He managed a bit of a laugh. "...Can't believe we just fit my entire life into that tiny little van." He laughed a bit and shrugged. "I'm...not coming back here. Just...just to sell it, probably." He sniffed, and Jon watched him, a note of worry tugging at him. Then Martin smiled, just a little too brightly, and said,"Sorry, just, sort of talking myself through it, that's all."   
"I get it," Tim replied. 

They stayed a few moments longer than necessary, just standing silently together out front of Martin's old house. Then the three of them got into the cab of the moving van and went home. It seemed to strike Martin again as they passed a cross street near the institute, and as they turned onto the Vauxhall bridge he commented, "We're headed home." 

"Stop that," Tim admonished, voice low with just the slightest note of teasing. "I'm driving. Can't cry right now." 

"Tim!" Martin's voice was light, only almost admonishing in return, brushing it off as a joke. Jon could hear the real concern under it, and on some level shared it. 

Tim shrugged. "Lots of changes. Lots of good things," he admitted. "So it's a toss up between the happy tears and the waiting for the other shoe to drop." An uncomfortable silence spread through the cab in an instant and Jon could feel his own heartbeat in a way that left him unsettled. After a moment Tim added, "Just...being honest. Transparent. Like we all agreed," almost as an apology. 

The apology didn't land, and the silence went on. Finally, Jon said, "No, you're right." Martin turned to look at him so fast that Jon couldn't quite make himself make eye contact. He was sure Martin would just be looking at him with an expression of betrayal. "That's why we're moving in. We're all waiting for something to go wrong, if we weren't we'd be taking things a lot slower, right?" 

"So that's it, then?" Martin asked, irritated. "We've...all just accepted that one or more of us is going to die horribly and we're just. Making the best of it?" His voice had slipped to a high, offended pitch, and Jon tensed to stop himself from wincing. 

"No one said anything about death, Martin," Jon argued. 

"No," Martin agreed. "But you sure as hell implied it." 

"If it helps," Tim interjected, "I was thinking something a lot more mundane. Like you figuring out Jon and I are assholes." 

Martin snorted. "You thought I don't already know that?" he demanded. Jon tried to smile, but there was an edge in Martin's voice that suggested he was still genuinely upset. "That's almost...that's actually worse." 

Tim sighed. "Martin, calm down. Of course I'm scared something will go wrong. I've avoided real relationships my entire adult life because I was scared something would go wrong, and when I finally give in and get into one, it's complicated on multiple levels? It'd be weirder if I weren't terrified." 

"Well, me leaving isn't something you have to worry about," Martin stated with finality. 

Tim nodded, and sighed. "Martin..." He turned a corner, and they were pulling onto their block. The row of houses that included their new home came into sight. "I appreciate the sentiment. I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, Martin, and you backing me up, Jon." Jon startled at the unexpected thanks. "It was just really unnecessary." Tim stated. "I'm just...up in my emotions and not really up for thinking about things too closely." 

Martin sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to...pounce like that." 

Tim shrugged. "It's sort of what you do." He didn't elaborate, instead pulling up on the stretch of road in front of the four terraced houses pushed together. Tim parked in front of the corner house, in the space that left the back door of the van closest to the front door. 

The conversation was over for now, and the tension from it largely defused. Jon had the sense that it wasn't over though. For the moment it was displaced by moving boxes into the house, past the office separated from the front room by a pair of drywall walls. Into the second room, half carpeted living room half tiled kitchen. 

The room began to fill with boxes, and just before they were halfway through, a stranger approached them. He stood out instantly. Not only for his broad shoulders, large build, and thick facial hair, but for the dark purple color the rest of his otherwise professional hairstyle had been dyed and the black, knee-length dress he wore featuring a pink floral print. 

It was Tim that was stopped by the man's conversational "Ah -" and he stopped and stepped to one side to allow Jon to pass with a box. "Would you guys like a hand at all?" he asked, then, suddenly, "Oh, I'm -" he offered a hand, which Tim shook halfway through the introduction, "I'm Merle, I live -" he gestured behind him " - at the other end of the row. I rent the Foresters’ basement level. Thought I'd see if you wanted any help moving in."

"Oh!" Tim responded, glancing toward the house to see Martin emerge from the doorway. He turned back to Merle and commented "That's very kind of you -" and then "Martin, ah -" Martin stopped, and Tim made introductions. "We're moving his things right now, so it's up to him, but as soon as the van's empty I'm making another trip to pick up mine and then you're more than welcome." 

Tim headed to the van for a box, and when he turned around and started inside with it Martin and Merle were walking shoulder-to-shoulder toward him and Tim's mind instantly went to some very bad, very fun places. He took a long stride to side-step them and shook his head to clear the thought from it. The almost paradoxical first impression Merle gave of uncertain, but sturdy flamboyance had landed him squarely into the rather unpredictable zone of 'Tim's type' - and he and Martin had been clear from the beginning that Tim was free to seek additional sexual fulfillment outside of the relationship…

That didn't mean threesomes would ever happen. In fact, it pretty explicitly meant they wouldn't because Martin wanted nothing to do with any dalliances Tim may or may not have outside their relationship. He didn't even want to know about them. So if, and given the uncertainty of...literally everything at the moment that was a big if, Tim went forward with the flirtation and seduction process toward his new neighbor, Martin would, unfortunately, not be involved.

As he approached the doorway, Tim indulged a brief moment of envy that Martin was the one who got to sleep in between two other people who loved him and would protect him with their lives. Then, as he walked through the doorway he erased that envy with the mental reminder that Martin's other partner was _Jon_. Tim had slept beside Jon before, and while there had been significant emotional extenuating circumstances, there were certain unforgivable instances of elbow use during the night that made Tim mostly just grateful that the nights ahead they would sleep in the same bed, Martin would serve as a firm and beautiful barrier between himself and Jon.

Ten minutes later, Merle said something on his way in with a box that Tim couldn't quite make out. Jon froze where he stood and, a beat later, let his head fall against the box he was holding with a soft groan. A beat later Martin made a nearly inhuman sound, dragging a snort up from his throat through his nose that soon morphed into a laugh. Tim recognized the careful over pronunciation and the wide, self-satisfied grin on Merle's face as he approached the door with a heavy box in his arms, and decided that there could be no ifs regarding a pun-teller of that capacity.

Pending likely compatible orientations, Tim was absolutely going to seduce their new neighbor.   
Once Martin’s' things were unloaded, Tim left Jon and Martin to do some basic unpacking and Merle offered to come along to load up the things from his old place. Tim accepted the offer and got to know Merle on the drive to his old flat. He was an actor. Voice work, mostly.   
Radio at uni, a podcast here or there. He'd also been in a few student films and was currently in a play at a local theater, while also working at a different local theater in a non-performing capacity. 

"What about you?" Merle asked. 

Tim blew out a breath, mentally crossed his fingers that Merle would both never have heard of the place and not press for details, and answered "I'm an Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute." 

Merle made an understanding noise and guessed "boring Desk Job?" and Tim barely held in his sigh of relief. 

"Mostly," he answered. "Filing, fact checking, occasional follow-up interviews. Work Trips sometimes, those can be exciting but mostly yeah. Just paperwork." It was an easy lie because it was what he wanted the job to be. What the job would be if the world were right, if Tim had managed to avoid the things that went bump in the night. It was a nice lie that Tim didn't like to think about. "Too boring to talk about, really. Let's talk more about you instead, you're much more interesting." 

Merle let him get away with the deflection until they got to his old flat. It helped that of the other man's wide array of hobbies, Tim had nostalgic memories of three of them from his teen years and the conversation flowed naturally and enthusiastically, even while they were packing up the van. Discussion of old cartoons and trading card games intermixed with strategizing for packing an entire life of belongings into a small space, and continued seamlessly into the drive back, at which point Merle stopped letting him get away with the deflection. 

"So, what _do_ you do for fun, anyway? I mean, yeah we're gonna fix it but you haven't touched any of my interests in years...you can't have just been...filing...since high school." Merle asked, and Tim was mostly just glad that despite the conversation being about him again, it wasn't about his work. .

They talked about his hobbies. The rivers and campsites he particularly liked. "That's why I'm the one driving the van," Tim commented. "All my recreation involves leaving London so I'm the only one of us with a driver’s license." 

"I'm in the same boat as your - uh, as the others." Merle stumbled over the relationship, as that hadn't been established, but he didn't ask directly. Tim didn't jump to provide it just yet. "Public transportation has always served me just fine."

Tim nodded. "Yeah, that's Martin's excuse. He sounds Northern but he was born here in London. Just kept his parents’ accent, but if someone needs tips for getting around the city he's the one I point them to." 

Merle nodded. "I'm starting to reconsider my position on it. Mostly just so I can help out the tech guys a little more. I can only take so much equipment on the train." 

They talked the rest of the drive, and only as they were going over the Vauxhall bridge did Merle ask, awkwardly, about the relationship between the three men moving into the house together. He apologized for the intrusiveness at both ends of the question and Tim couldn't help but chuckle at him and smile affectionately. He took a moment to consider his phrasing then "Well, Jon and I are just friends. But, I'm in an open relationship with Martin, who's also dating Jon." 

It wasn't a coincidence that Merle escalated their earlier vague plans to catch Tim up on some interests he'd let go of in his teens into full-fledged plans that involved Tim hanging out at Merle's place later in the week. Tim neither pretended it was, nor confirmed it wasn't. He left things in the warm, giddy, and deliberately nebulous place they were 

Jon and Martin had sorted out the boxes and left them all in the rooms most relevant to be unpacked in. A few in the kitchen, a few in the living room still, and most were being carried up the stairs to Martin's room. After a quick check-in, Tim left Jon and Martin to finish getting Martin's things upstairs and he and Merle started taking Tim's things around back and down into the basement. 

Right around when Jon and Martin were joining them for the heavy lifting, they were joined by another new neighbor. Tim didn't catch her name, in fact she scared the hell out of him because she was in the basement when he came down, but he didn't see her. He just went right past her and saw a flash of movement and the thudding of combat boots taking the stairs two at a time. 

When he saw her a few moments later, she was crawling into the back of the moving van to grab a box and pulling it back out. His first impression of her was, of course, her bright green undercut. His second impression was that her name-brand jeans had real distress tears at the knees instead of the deliberately styled ones he'd expect from a brand like that. His next impression involved having to practically jump out of her way as she stalked the path in back of the house. She offered a "Sorry, mate," and barely a second later was gone. 

"Who was that?" he asked Jon a second later, as his metamor approached the van after having also had to sidestep the seemingly unstoppable girl. 

"A friend of Merle's, I think?" Jon commented. "Or...just..someone else from this row. I didn't catch her name either." He paused a beat then blinked and added "She lives just past Crystal and Dorothy though, with her mom, Doctor, uh, Robin Grace." he blinked again and shook his head and started toward the van again. 

Tim shifted toward Jon, stepping practically into his path but not quite and catching him by the arm. Jon looked at him, and Tim leaned in, lowering his voice as he asked "Did it happen again?" Jon looked at him blankly and Tim added "Just now. How'd you..." he hesitated, then pronounced the word carefully "Know. All that?" 

Jon hesitated as realization seemed to dawn, and then he groaned deeply. "Right. Sorry," he said. 

"It's not your fault," Tim said quickly. Too quickly, as much a reminder for himself as for Jon. "You've just gotta keep on top of that. Don't let it, you know, sink into your head too much." 

Jon nodded, reaching up to lightly squeeze Tim's arm in return. He offered a sad, but mostly tired smile. "Thank you, Tim," he said softly. Than he shook his head. "It seems so irrelevant..." 

"We'll keep an eye out," Tim commented. "Let me - us - know anything else that you...Know, about the neighbors, or anything else, alright?" He squeezed Jon's arm in return, comforting as he could be, before letting go. 

"Right," Jon agreed. Then he let go as well and resumed unloading the truck. 

The girl, it turned out, was called Jaquie. She was still in school, and a student athlete, and could lift more than any of the four men there with ease. "I'm not saying any of you are the type that would be," Merle commented as they were unloading some of the last few things from the van, "but you can't be intimidated by girls who are stronger than you around here in most senses of the word. Otherwise Jaquie is going to make your life a living hell. Also, I've got dibs on writing her autobiography in ten years, she promised." 

They finished unloading the van more or less just in time to be called in for dinner by Crystal McDonald, a surreal feeling for all three men, who exchanged glances before heading into their neighbors house. The ladies' front room didn't have a section dry-walled off, rather the opposite, and it was only separated from the back room by a half-wall that blocked view of their living room at a glance from the front door. 

It was clean, and homey, and obviously decorated for autumn with a red and gold wreath proudly displayed on the half-wall and other touches signaling the turning season. The dining table extended from the edge of their kitchen into the front room and Crystal seated the men around it. They could see into the kitchen where a slightly larger woman with straight, mostly grey hair pulled into a low ponytail swept around the kitchen finishing preparations for their meal. 

"It's still going to be a few minutes." Crystal commented. "I let it slip to Dorothy that I told you to expect something boxed and well..."   
"Not chefs my arse!" the woman in the kitchen, apparently Dorothy, shouted. "Cooking is about half math, half common sense, and if those are the only qualifications, I've been a chef my whole life!" 

"You were a math teacher for ten years, that doesn't make you a chef!" Crystal argued. 

Dorothy huffed. "Crystal, if you've met someone with more experience using their common sense than me, I want to meet them." This statement was closely followed by an egg timer sounding, Dorothy silencing it and loudly muttering, "Shit, what did I have this one set for again?" before abruptly becoming a swirl of motion again. 

Dinner wound up being spaghetti in a meat sauce, parmesan asparagus, and some french bread with what Dorothy advertised as "home-made garlic butter." - a description that amused Crystal enough that Jon actually decided he would genuinely rather not know. His aversion to that answer was lessened when everything else turned out to be delicious. "I would have made you boys actual meatballs," Dorothy explained. "Except turns out the last of the eggs went to breakfast." 

"Three days ago," Crystal put in teasingly, and Dorothy glared at her. 

"It's perfect." "It's amazing." Tim and Martin chorused in near-perfect unison. 

"It's mostly canned," Crystal teased. Dorothy pulled a face and Crystal laughed. "I'm just giving you a hard time. It's delicious, dear. Thank you." 

Dorothy smiled proudly and leaned over to kiss her wife's cheek, and then turned her attention back to her own plate. Jon followed suit, silently spreading a bit of the actually reasonably tasty garlic butter on the bread and thinking about the conversation he'd had with Martin and Tim about growing old together. He felt the dull ache of doubt of his place in a scene like this.

Of his place in their future. 

It was an uncomfortable feeling that he did his best to push aside and enjoy the rest of dinner, which was easier than it might have been because dinner really was delicious. More than that, the conversation actually flowed fairly naturally. Tim's natural charisma went a long way, of course. As did Martin's general propensity for small talk. Jon nearly choked on an asparagus stem when the women revealed an argument they'd launched into with each other from an innocuous comment from Martin about the weather had been entirely for his benefit. Martin's expression had been incredible. 

Each of the three men offered in turn to help with dishes but the old women refused, insisting such aid would "mess up our system" without elaborating what system or how it would be messed up by having help cleaning up from the people they prepared the meal for. All the same the trio eventually left and made their way back down the block to their own new home at the other end of the row. 

They walked into the house together, full of Martin's boxes, and Tim was the one who turned and locked the front door behind him. Once that was done, a strange relief swept over the three of them at being alone together again at last. Martin sank into Jon's arms and Tim stepped over to put a hand in as Jon held their boyfriend for a moment.

"Pasta after a long day was a bad idea," Martin muttered against Jon's shoulder. "I'm so full." 

"At least there were vegetables," Tim interjected, rubbing Martin's back gently. "It wasn't as heavy as it could have been." 

"Vegetables with _cheese_!" Martin groaned, looking up at Tim and shifting his weight so Jon could lean a little on him in return. 

Tim shrugged.. "Parmesan, though..."

Martin rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulder a little to better support Jon while leaning into him a bit more. "Yes, alright, Tim, fine. It _ Could Have Been Worse _, happy?" 

Tim flashed a wide grin and leaned in abruptly to peck Martin on the lips before responding "Yes, actually. I am." and moved away from them through the house before adding "Goodnight, then." 

"Goodnight?" Jon echoed. "Where are you going?" 

Tim stopped, and looked back at them questioningly. "My room?" he said "In...the basement?" 

"That's it then?" Martin said. "Straight to bed no...no time together?" 

Tim smiled sweetly and approached and Jon shifted away from Martin who was momentarily reluctant to let him go until Tim got to him. Then Tim caught him by both arms and met his eyes seriously. "I have so much unpacking to do. We both do, but if I don't get started tonight, it's just going to sit there for months. I've got to at least make a big enough mess to drive me to do something about it instead of just living out of boxes." 

Jon smiled and shifted to lean on the corner that separated his office from the entryway. Martin offered Tim a soft smile and they kissed again gently before exchanging some soft words Jon couldn't quite place. Then Tim looked at Jon for a moment and Jon met his strangely serious gaze. It only took him half a moment to understand the reason for it and he stepped in beside Martin again in answer. 

Then Tim headed out the back door and Jon took Martin's hand as he closed and locked it. Martin sighed heavily. "I mean we could go downstairs and help him..." he protested.   
"Or we could stay up here and unpack your things," Jon countered.   
Martin groaned a bit. "I really don't want to look at my things just now." he said. "If unpacking is half the ordeal packing was..." 

Jon was sure it wouldn't be, but all the same he steered Martin into the second room of their house with the comment "Let's just sit then," and guided him toward the living room, and Martin's couch. Only yesterday, they'd been sitting on this same couch together in Martin's house, and now they sat together on it here in their new home and Jon curled into Martin's side and they took a moment to properly relax. 

They talked a bit, about the new neighbors and the house itself. About nothing in particular really, talked just to talk, before finally deciding to sleep upstairs in Martin's bed together that night. It was there, back curled firmly into Martin's chest and Martin's arm around him, fingers splayed over Jon's breastbone, that Jon felt safe enough to admit "I ah- Knew - some things about Jaquie today. Without being told." 

Martin made a soft, concerned noise, and shifted slightly. "Important things?" he asked. 

"Not really," Jon answered. Then, because it was Martin, he shared the illicit knowledge he'd gained. "Her mom's a medical geneticist at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, Dr. Robin Grace, single mother by choice - the uh, donor didn't actually have any expenses getting to the clinic but he took the payment anyway to buy some new trading cards, something I almost told Merle when he mentioned his game of choice earlier." 

Martin made a noise. "So just the slightly invasive stuff then?" 

Jon made a slight noise of agreement. "Yeah, but nothing relevant or even particularly morbid. Tim thought I should tell you both anyway." 

"Tell us what you knew," Martin clarified, "or that you Knew something?" 

"The latter," Jon said. "He thinks I should really keep an eye on my -" he swallowed "on my powers. Sounds so stupid out loud..." 

Martin made a noise that could best be described as an auditory frown. "That seems...I don't know, almost recursive?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Keeping an Eye on the powers you're getting from the...Ceaseless Watcher. It just seems...like you're trying to stop it from affecting you by...doing exactly what it wants?" 

Jon huffed and turned slightly in Martin's arms, pressing his shoulder against Martin's arm socket and looked up at him. "Well, what should I be doing then?" 

"I don't know," Martin admitted. "Sorry...I just...it's a good idea. Tim's right. Sorry." 

Jon sighed and snuggled into Martin, who held him a little bit tighter. "I just...I don't want to become something you can't love," he said softly. It was a more direct confession than his usual, but a long day of physical activity could do that to a person. "I don't want to be the sort of thing Tim wants to protect you from, I want to be the one protecting you." 

Martin scoffed. "I get really sick of you two thinking I need so much protection, you know? I'm not helpless." 

"I know you're not helpless," Jon said, a bit of Martin's irritation infecting his own tone. "I just...it's just that neither Tim or I want to imagine a world without you. That's all." 

"And you think I want to imagine one without either of you?" Martin's voice rose in pitch and Jon had to shift away a little to avoid the sharpness hurting his ears a bit. "Jon, I'm dating both of you. That's not exactly 'could survive without either of you' behavior." 

"Hmm." Jon forced a smile, a lightness to his voice as he teased, "And here I thought it was just indecisiveness." He was rewarded by being flipped rather unceremoniously onto his back, straddled by the significantly larger man, and thoroughly kissed in all a fitting punishment that was also an utter failure as a deterrent in the long run, but worked well enough in the moment. 

The next morning they all went together to load up Jon's flat, which was a quick and largely unsentimental affair. Afterwards they stopped at a cafe for breakfast. Despite having the simplest order, an everything bagel with cream cheese, Martin took the longest to eat, having taken forever to spread both the cream cheese and some of the jam that'd been available on the table on his bagel while Tim and Jon just dug right into their own food. 

On impulse, they stopped in at the Institute after breakfast. When they got to the bottom of the steps Melanie looked up from what had become her desk and snapped "Well, if it isn't the newlyweds!" 

"We're not married, Melanie," Jon corrected with a long-suffering sort of amused sigh. 

"I know," Melanie answered, her tone generally more pleasant and teasing but not without its edge. "There's not a word for 'just moved in' though." She stopped and gestured. "Stack of statements that won't record digitally in your office, Jon. Lost count after about five?"

"Good Lord, that many?" Jon started, thoughtlessly, toward his office. 

"I've had literally nothing else to do and been working totally alone all week," Melanie responded. "I think I may have emptied an entire box even." 

"Congratulations," Tim offered. Then "We'll probably be back in more often once we're settled, unfortunately." 

"Can't talk to anyone more than ten seconds without reminding them how much you hate your job, can you?" Melanie challenged. 

Tim grimaced and didn't answer, instead asking, "Have you done any follow-up work? No one's come in looking to give a statement, have they?" 

"No stragglers from the Unknowing, if that's what you're asking." Melanie paused a moment, then added, "I did mace a guy I thought was following me a couple nights ago though. He was wearing a shirt with what looked like a symbol for that cult on its collar. What was it...?" 

"The Lightless Flame?" Martin suggested. 

"No..." Melanie thought a moment, then "Divine Host. The Church of the Divine Host. Yeah. He ran away too quick for me to be sure because, you know, mace, but either way he was a creep." 

"Are you alright?" Martin asked suddenly, stepping toward her. 

Melanie shifted back suddenly, wheeling her chair away from the desk and holding the edge of the desk with both hands. "Yeah. I maced him, remember? I'm fine. I'd have mentioned if anything else happened." 

"Still!" Martin protested.

Tim nodded, but didn't step forward, just reached for Martin to tug him back half a step. "Being followed's no fun. We all live pretty nearby now so even if we're not back yet, if you need someone to walk you anywhere..." 

Melanie snorted. "Yeah, no, thanks. I'm fine." She growled the last word with a bit too much force and pushed away from the desk, getting to her feet and starting past Tim and Martin toward the stairs.

As they turned to follow her movement they spotted Elias walking carefully down the stairs, sliding his hand down the railing as he walked. Melanie half-turned toward Tim and Martin and gestured in frustration before storming past Elias who offered a friendly, "Hello, Melanie," as she went. She ignored him, and Elias turned his head as well to watch her stomp up the steps then shrugged slightly as he finished descending them. "Martin, Tim. Good to see you both again. Is Jon in as well?" 

"In his office," Martin supplied, with a gesture. "He might be recording a statement though." 

Elias hummed slightly to himself, then commented "I doubt it," and headed toward Jon's office. 

Sure enough, Jon hadn't begun recording a statement yet, merely glancing through the stack Melanie had left him. They were old, the most recent having been given nearly a decade ago. Subjects ranging from a lapse in reality on the London Eye to an actor fearing for the existence of a theater ghost after another, more ominous, shadowy presence made itself known. Jon was slowly gravitating toward the latter statement when there was a knock on his door. 

"Yes?" 

Elias opened the door, and closed it behind him as he greeted "Hello, Jon." Once the door was closed, he stood in front of it. Casually, and his tone was friendly enough, but Jon couldn't help but get the sense he was blocking the door. 

"Elias! Hello!" Jon greeted, a sudden although slight panic overtaking him. "I've still got, what, three personal days saved up?" 

Elias chuckled. "Jon, between your personal days, the holidays you never took, and the sick time you always show up despite being asked to take, you could probably safely stop showing up for the rest of the year." He offered a tiny half-smirk and added, "I'd greatly prefer that you didn't, of course."

"Of course," Jon echoed, a little too quickly. 

"I was just checking in," Elias explained. "How's your move going?" 

Oh!" Jon thought the explanation would help him relax. He expected the knots that had re-formed suddenly through his back at his employer's appearance to begin loosening again. They didn't. He tried not to let on. "Very well! Cleared out my old flat this morning. Completely. All that's left is go hand over the keys." 

Elias nodded once. "So it's official. And I've heard you've got less of a commute now?" 

Jon hesitated. He wanted to ask. Where had Elias heard that? How did he know? Had he...Known? They suspected, they all did. Of course they all suspected. There was just never any proof that Elias was anything other than what he seemed. Even in the face of the end of the world, even when the man’s presence and decisions nudged things this way and that. An order to prioritize certain boxes that contained information he needed. Intercepting an archival assistant and delaying them just long enough for a new detail to emerge that changed their destination for the day. 

What's more, the fact that none of them could quit. 

It was more than a little infuriating. Instead of asking though, he just confirmed, "Yeah, I'm...barely a kilometer over the bridge now." He shrugged and laughed a bit. "Could probably walk to work if I had to." 

Elias chuckled. "Well, it shouldn't come to that." 

"Less likely now, actually," Jon added, and Elias looked at him curiously. "Tim's got a car." 

Elias' chuckle tapered off with a slight sound through his nose. "Yes, about that..." 

There it was, the reason for the panic. "What...what about that?" 

Elias sighed heavily. "The institute, as I'm sure you're aware, has no rules against employee fraternization. Not even at different levels. So there's nothing...untoward...about either your relationship with Martin or Tim's, it just seems...delicate?" 

Jon sighed. Was it really that simple? Was his boss just being closed-minded? There had to be more to it. "We've got it worked out pretty well." he answered. "...and...not to be rude but if it's not against any Institute policy I'm not sure it's any of your business?" 

"No, no, of course, and of course I'm not intervening in any official capacity I'm just..." he hesitated, then "Concerned. For your well-being. I know that you're actually part of a younger generation than me but - you're actually alright with not being Martin's only..." He trailed off. 

Jon snorted. "I actually prefer it. Martin can get a bit...intense...at times, and Tim and I find that...foisting him off onto each other is a good way to get a little breathing room." He shrugged. "It's a more modern relationship than I ever expected for myself but it's not like I'd had much luck with the traditional variety." 

Honestly, Jon wasn't sure why he was discussing this with Elias. Especially not with the way Elias pursed his lips and nodded, a spark of displeasure behind his eyes. "Just...try not to let it get in the way?" Elias said. "I know you're happy and as your friend I'm glad but...I'm also worried. Still as your friend but also as your employer. Not to speak ill of the dead, but Gertrude didn't exactly leave you the easiest of tasks to sort through. I'd rather not find out your relationship is making the work more difficult." 

Yet again, the question. How much did Elias know? And, if he knew more than he seemed, as seemed almost inevitable, what side was he on? The side of Beholding was the obvious answer. Which meant if Gerry was correct, Elias would be the next enemy he'd have to face. It was such an odd thought. Though, he supposed in his own way Elias did look somewhat villainous. His too-careful posture; his smile that, while genuine, kept something back. Even that slightly distant gaze, that never quite felt like he was looking at you. 

"They're the best assistants I could ask for," Jon responded. "In a professional capacity. And the best family I could ask for in a personal one." He spoke with a tone of finality. This conversation was over. 

Elias' smile wavered, and Jon knew he'd won. Elias nodded once and turned slightly. "Alright then. In that case, I'll let you get back to work." Then he turned the rest of the way and walked out of Jon's office. Jon wasn't sure if he imagined it or if Elias actually closed the door a little harder than necessary behind him. Regardless, a deep breath later, and Jon reached for the recorder on his breath. 

Time for a statement.


End file.
